a/n: thank you for the reviews! i don't own hetalia. i don't own mama by mcr. the lullaby is my own.
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i should've raised a baby girl
i should've been a better son
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Ivan found it surprising that Alfred was an early riser.
"At least I don't have to worry about waking you up for school tomorrow," he said as a greeting, hair tousled and his eyes in a sort of lounging ease, as the man crossed the kitchen to open the curtains. The sky was still dark. "I know it's too soon, but hell. And, good mornin', sunshine - you fixin' breakfast?"
Ivan smiled. Alfred was wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants, and a tank top. "Good morning, Mr. Jones. I don't assume I'm being too imposing?" he asked, if only because he wanted to be polite. Because in the next second he poured the pancake mix into the pan.
"How in the hell?" Alfred walked all the way towards Ivan, peering over his shoulder. "Well I'll be damned. Pardon my language, but those smell too damn good to be eaten."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Alfred laughed, shaking his head as he went to the refigerator to grab some apple juice. It was Matthew's favourite, along with pancakes and a good dose of maple syrup. "You're doing too good of a job tryin' to get me killed, boy."
Ivan tilted his head, flipping three pancakes successfully as he did.
"'Cause dollface is gonna give me an earful 'bout letting you man the kitchen," Alfred continued, soon returning to Ivan's side. "You done with those pancakes?"
"Yes -"
"Now scoot yer ass to the nearest available seat, thank you very much," he commanded, jerking his thumb over his shoulder while bumping into Ivan. The boy stifled a grin. So unbecoming of him, truly.
But nevermind. He obediently went to sit in one of the seats of the breakfast corner. "You make breakfast, Mr. Jones?"
"Yep. Fay's never a morning person. How does eggs and bacon sound?"
"Okay, Mr. Jones."
"Now for the last time, it's Alfred."
"Okay, Mr. Jones."
Alfred rolled his eyes as Ivan grinned behind his mug. "Now that's more like a fifteen-year-old. All smart ass -"
"Daddy?"
The both of them turned to the doorway, with Alfred's eyebrows disappearing into his fringe. "Baby boy, what you doin' up so early?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Matthew blushed. "No. Don't tell me. Pancakes?" The boy nodded, and Alfred ran a hand through his hair, snorting in amusement. "Guilty as charged, squirt. You go say good mornin' to Ivan and sit with him. He's the one who made your favourite today."
"Really? T-Thank you! And good morning, Ivan," he added before he forgot, pulling himself up into one of the seats. Ivan placed two large pancakes on a plate and poured a large helping of maple syrup, before passing it to Matthew - all because Alfred would like it. And he did, because when he was done placing Ivan's meal and his own, he frowned - obviously trying to keep the smile away from his face.
"All right, now that's just too sweet. You tryin' to charm your way into the family?"
Ivan said nothing about that; just picked up his eating utensils to start on his meal.
That Alfred made for him.
"Thank you, Mr. Jones," he said softly, eyes crinkling. And there was none of that Mrs. Jones to ruin this perfect morning -
"Good morning," a voice said groggily from the doorway.
- but of course life wasn't all that perfect, Ivan conceeded, disguising his frown by bringing up the meat to his mouth - and tightening his grip around the knife when Alfred crossed the room to give his wife a kiss. Ah, it wouldn't be too good to be so hasty.
Her time will come.
"Good morning yourself, muffin. Ivan made pancakes -"
"You let him make pancakes?" Morgan interrupted, visibly frowning.
Ivan wanted to badly roll his eyes at her need to treat him as if he couldn't take care of himself. Really. "It's all right, Mrs. Jones. I woke up early and I wanted to do something nice, since you adopted me and all..."
"But Ivan, you don't have to! You don't owe us a thing," she fussed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "It wouldn't do for you to make breakfast for us."
"Is it a crime?" Ivan asked airily, looking away from her and smiling at Matthew when he tried to pour apple juice into his plastic cup - without success. He promptly helped the boy - "T-Thank you, Ivan!" - as the woman stood, taken aback.
"O-Of course not. But you really didn't have to..." she trailed off uncertainly, while Alfred just shook his head.
"Just let it go, sweetheart. Wouldn't do to spoil the mornin', right? Don'tcha have a meetin' with that stuck up brother of yours today?
Morgan sighed, then smiled; taking her seat opposite Ivan and beside Matthew. "Arthur is not stuck up, Alfred," she said loyally, helping herself to the pancakes and the eggs. "Why are you up early, poppet - no. Wait." She shook her head, laughing. (i want to tear her voice right out) "Pancakes. Have you thanked Ivan yet?"
Matthew nodded enthusiastically. "And they're really really good, too."
Alfred sat on the seat opposite Matthew - in between Ivan and Morgan. The sound of clinks rang through the air as metal hit ceramic; the whole family already starting to enjoy the meal. "Damn, these are good," Alfred crowed, ruffling Ivan's hair. "Now I wouldn't mind you making pancakes once in a while."
"Alfred!" Morgan sounded appalled.
Ivan's boyish cheeks pinked as he completely ignored the lady. "Thank you, Mr. Jones. And I wouldn't mind making them for you - and Matthew," he said meaningfully, gazing at the child. The family was ignorant of him omitting Mrs. Jones out of the picure - who, at the moment, simply floundered in her seat as she thought up of something to say.
"Oh - well. I suppose it's no harm... Thank you, Ivan. These really are delicious."
Ivan smiled prettily, especially towards Mrs. Jones. "You're welcome."
i waaaaant to tear he r voi ce r i g h t out
She smiled back as his monster sang his only lullaby.
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"Ivan? What'ser favourite colour?" Matthew asked shyly, after breakfast, sprawled on the rug with a piece of drawing block and crayons all over the floor around him. Ivan looked away from the television and peered at the piece of art the little boy was working on. There was an image of a stickman, a stickwoman, and two boys on each side of them.
How cute. "Is that your homework, Matvey?"
"Yep. Why'rou calling me Maht-vyay?" he asked curiously, looking up. Ivan sat down beside him, touching the sticks of crayons idly as he responded.
"Because that is how I call a person named Matthew, in my native language. You don't like it?"
Matthew scrambled for something to say, cheeks flushing. "I-I think it's very nice!" he squeaked, because he didn't want Ivan to dislike him or anything - Ivan chuckled.
"Thank you very much. Is that me?" he asked, even if he knew the answer already, towards one of the stickboys who had an uncoloured shirt.
"Uh-huh. I'mma make your shirt your favourite colour."
Alfred's shirt was bright sky blue, while Mrs. Jones was a nice forest green. Matthew himself was in red.
"Ah. Then would you kindly colour me red like you?"
"Red's my favourite colour too!" Matthew exclaimed enthusiastically, then set on to work on his new big brother's shirt. Ivan simply smiled, ears picking up on the other conversation not too far away from them.
"I'll be gone for a few hours -"
"I know, babycakes, you just have a great time with Arthur and don't worry your pretty lil' head 'bout me and the kids."
"... If you're absolutely sure. But if anything comes up, give me a call."
"I know. Now get moving, you're gonna be late," Alfred murmured affectionately. Ivan's eyes minimally narrowed.
"Is it okay?"
He looked down at Matthew, where the child was hesitantly holding up his drawing to the older boy's face. Such a nice image of the ideal family - Ivan and Matthew flanking both Morgan and Alfred, big smiles on their circle faces as they peered up the paper to the observer.
"Just fix your mother for a bit." Ivan smiled brilliantly. "Otherwise I absolutely love it."
Matthew deflated for a bit at the first comment, before his smile returned full force. "T-Thank you, Ivan! Daddy, look at what I drew!"
"Let's see what you got there - oh dear lord, my lil' devil's gonna become an artist!" Alfred laughed as he ruffled the boy's hair and then turning to Ivan. "You up for a little shopping? Fay's all ballistic 'bout the bag you brought in yesterday and this time I agree with her - you've too little clothes on you, and I say it's time for a bit of a wardrobe restock."
Ivan blinked. "I suppose there's no way out of this?" he asked politely, and Alfred smirked.
"Damn straight. Just lemme go change. You mind helpin' out baby boy with his clothes? He's still not tall enough to reach his coat and he's always forgetting his socks. They're on the rack near the front door and Mattie can show you where he keeps his socks."
"I don't mind," Ivan said, incredibly pleased.
"I'm still growing," Matthew mumbled petulantly as all grumbling five-year-olds seem to do, and Alfred said nothing, just gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and a ruffle of Ivan's hair as he passed the both of them.
"Yes, you might be my height when you're my age, Matvey."
"Really? But that's so long, we're ten years'part," Matthew said, nevertheless excited, parting his hands. "You gonna stay forever and ev'r right?" He looked up to Ivan with complete adoration. "You're a really nice broth'r."
"Of course, little brother." They passed one of those family portraits Ivan has taken a liking to admire these days, and his hands ghosted over the frame, unseen by Matthew. So close. But it wouldn't doto be so hasty. Ivan knows how to be very patient. "Of course I'll stay."
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He's been smiling at every piece of shit to come up to Alfred, say hello, and politely inquire about 'the nice-looking boy' beside him. Already he can hear the lullaby playing in his mind in a loop, and the more permanent it was as more people came. The latest simply made the tune ring loudly in his ear.
don't make a fuss, sweetheart o' mine
"Yeah, his name is Ivan."
now would you kindly pass the knife
"How old is he?"
Before Alfred could respond, the salesgirl came back to ring up the purchases, and Alfred looked away from the woman. It was only natural when Ivan felt obligated to respond for the occupied man, especially when the woman repeated her question a bit more forcefully. oh baby boy just hush and sleep. "I'm fifteen," he answered softly, but loud enough for the woman to hear him.
your mama's here so don't you weep
The woman threw him a glance before looking back at Alfred. "Is attending school?" she insisted, completely ignoring him.
Ivan sighed, touching her arm gently. "Yes. I am. And you can stop talking as if I'm not in the same room, ma'am," Ivan replied pleasantly, startling the woman to look at Ivan. He smiled, leaning in close enough to whisper. "Now would you kindly get out of my sight?" he murmured - she wrenched her arm away, hands shaking. "Oh, dear."
she took out trash not long ago, you're still all hers, she'll tell you so
She was one of those who knew right off the bat that he wasn't quite right when she looked into his eyes. Now Ivan wasn't all that worried. After all, who would believe the polite, nicely mannered boy was such a monster?
you're mama's little pride and joy
"You're -" she started furiously, and he relented with a cruel, cruel smile. Immediately her courage died, replaced with cold hard fear. "I-I need to go," she stuttered, backing away and bumping into the clothes rack, almost bringing it down. Ivan tilted his head, lips shaped into a pretty curve.
you're mama's little baby boy
"Of course, ma'am," he said cheerfully, watching her go before waiting patiently for Alfred to be done. The man had his eyebrows furrowed, hands in a movement that seemed quite off with Ivan but he couldn't tell why.
"- sorry 'bout that, Lisa, I need to pay for the clothes - he's fifteen," Alfred announced, spinning on his heels with full shopping bags in each, to find the woman truly well and gone. "Where'd she go?"
"She just walked away," Ivan answered, his lullaby no more than a faint whisper in his head now.
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how long can you hold, mama?
A LITTLE WHILE.
okay. Ivan turned to lie on his back, hands running over the bedsheets, material softer than he's ever felt before. He was just done packing everything into his brand-new closet in his brand-new room for a brand-new life. He didn't like starting over very much, to be honest. There was simply too much to do. i'll get started very soon. it'll take a little while.
GOOD LITTLE IVAN. the voice murmured affectionately, and Ivan simply stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing but golden starlight and a black hole behind the brightest of skies. It intrigued him so much, he couldn't help but ask mama. His voice had the same hope often crushed in broken childhood dreams.
is he mine? he asked, lost, confused. Certain.
SILLY LITTLE IVAN. the voice cackled, amused that he would say such a thing. He could feel the caress of the voice on his hair - like a mother whispering sweet dreams to her child at night before the Sandman comes. OF COURSE.
should she kindly stay away, mama?
The voice rumbled in approval, and Ivan seemed appeased. "Her time will come," he murmured with false cheer, already daydreaming. "Oh, her time will come."
There was a knock on the door.
"Ivan?" There was a pause, and a shuffle as Mrs. Jones's voice drifted through the wood of the door. "... May I come in?" she asked - almost hesitantly, it seemed, and Ivan sat up on the bed, adjusting his collar.
"Of course," he answered demurely, and the door opened to admit his favorite playmate to be. The woman was still in her clothes from before, when she left the house to visit her brother. He supposed she came straight upstairs to see him right after she got back. "Is anything the matter, Mrs. Jones?"
"Well. I'm not one to assume too much about people, but you're staying with us for quite some time, Ivan." She didn't say forever. Matthew would be so heartbroken. "So... I just wanted to make sure that the both of us are all right with each other."
Ivan feigned confusion. He's had quite a lot of practice. "What ever do you mean by that?"
"I'm - I'm not implying anything, and maybe I'm just being a bit too touchy but..."
He was getting bored.
"... I have a feeling that you don't like me much."
Ivan blinked, lips trembling as he struggled not to laugh. Morgan took it as a bad sign.
"My god - I didn't upset you, did I?" she asked, eyes filled with concern for the foster child she (not quite) wanted.
"Maybe a little bit," Ivan lied, dropping his gaze onto somewhere else. "I don't dislike you, Mrs. Jones. I'm just honest... I didn't realise it'll make you feel bad about it. But what ever gave you the feeling that I didn't like you?" Ivan asked, eyes wide and pleading. "P-Please don't send me back. I like it here so much -"
"No!" she cut in forcefully, clearly regretting bringing up the subject in the first place - exactly what Ivan wanted. "I didn't mean it like that! I wouldn't send you back just because you didn't like me - especially on the first day, Ivan. I... I must've been assuming things..." she trailed off uncertainly, going quiet. "Maybe I've been having a bad week - I'm sorry, Ivan." She shook her head. "This must be quite uncomfortable for you."
"It is," Ivan replied carelessly, placing particular attention to the way he said it - uncertain, afraid. It made Mrs. Jones berate herself mentally; subjecting the poor boy to such a thing, you stupid, stupid girl! "But Mrs. Jones, it wouldn't be as much fun without you. The family wouldn't be one if you're not around," he replied, and this time, he was completely honest.
(oh, i can't wait to break it.)
"Oh. Well." Morgan was obviously floundering, trying to find words. "I... I really am sorry. But you shouldn't assume that you'll be sent back like that." She tried to smile. "Really. You're a very nice boy, Ivan. I can't imagine why..."
Ivan wanted to badly to tear her voice out. "But I can't - I can't help it. All of them, they all never -" Ivan cut himself off, ducking his head. From the sound of silence, he knew very well the woman was surprised at this 'revelation' about her new son. She was intrigued - curious.
He wanted to laugh so badly.
"Well, I..." Morgan paused, then sighed. "I won't keep you up much longer. You've got school tomorrow," she said affectionately, the edge of her lips quirked up into a sort of half-smile. She brought up her hand to ruffle his hair but stopped short, hesitating - oh, very good - simply settling on squeezing his shoulder. Ivan held himself still. "Good night, Ivan."
She stood up and was halfway to the door before Ivan responded.
"Good night, Mrs. Jones."
sweet dreams.
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a/n: you'll get to see the full lullaby later. (but of course.) it doesn't make sense to you now - or does it? if you're confused about something, well, that's what future chapters are for.
read, review, thank you!